


the woman who laughs

by 100hearteyes



Series: love is not always what you think it’ll be [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Blind Clarke, Day 6, F/F, Free day, clexahalloweenweek, disfigured Lexa, kind of, the man who laughs au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-26 23:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12568956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100hearteyes/pseuds/100hearteyes
Summary: Disfigured by a king as a child, an 18th-century clown called Lexa struggles to find her worth and the right to have the heart of the woman she loves: Clarke, a blind girl with a lot of opinions.





	the woman who laughs

**Author's Note:**

> I adore German expressionism, it's my favourite film era. Wanted to do Dr Caligari, but it didn't fit Clexa at all. Also, this story is fucking beautiful?!? Oh and please ignore all historical inaccuracies inherent to Lexa being a woman.
> 
> The story gets a bit butchered by the end, yes. My apologies for that. Blame it on lack of time and not wanting this to be the exact same as the film. Btw please excuse any stupid mistakes, this was written on phone and over the span of almost a week.
> 
> This was supposed to be posted for the Horror Movie day, but I'm submitting it for the free day instead.

Lexa doesn't remember much from that day. One of the two days that shaped her life forever. 

She remembers being afraid. Her father knelt down to be on eye level with her, told her to be brave. Told her to survive.

She remembers crying. Those men who burst into her house. Who took her father; bound his wrists, forced him out, took him away from her. The last time she saw him.

She remembers screaming. When the bad man with the sombre moustache carved a smile into her face, so she could laugh at her fool of a father forever. How the blood dripped from her face, onto his hands, to the floor. The excruciating pain. How she could never close her lips again.

She remembers falling to a deep slumber as arms carried her away and the wind swept her dreams away. She remembers waking up to whipping snow and growling winds, her face covered by a bloody red scarf, as the bad man with the sombre moustache looked on from a ship and told the man holding her arm on shore not to leave her behind. She remembers the crowd roaring as she was tossed to the ground, hands digging into snow.

 

* * *

 

Lexa remembers much about that day. The second of two days that changed her life forever.

What she remembers best, however, is finding her way through the snowstorm, looking for a place to call home. She found it that day, in two ways. She remembers hearing the cries of a small child like her, younger. Digging into the snow in search of the sound. Digging, digging, digging, until she found a bundle of blankets, scared big blue eyes and hair like the rays of the sun, attached to the feeding tit of a frozen dead woman. She remembers lifting the baby, taking it in her arms. Trying to cradle it between her tiny hands and tiny arms, to keep her own tears from falling on its beautiful chubby face.

She also remembers clearly how a man found them, cuddled up against each other. His towering figure and his long, threaded beard. The way he picked them up gently and took them with him, his on his tail, to a home she now calls hers.

 

* * *

 

Gustus never asked her to do it. In fact, he begged her not to, but she was adamant. She must provide for her family. For him, for Clarke, for herself.

Despite winning a family that fateful day, Clarke also lost something to the snow. As though it were a simple trade. She started seeing with her touch. That rendered her useless to rich noblewomen in search of servants, in spite of her determination to work regardless of her lack of sight. Rendered her undesirable to rich noblemen in search of serving lovers, in spite of her unwavering beauty. It rendered her unemployable in general, in spite of her bright intellect. Lexa decided that people see to much with their eyes.

Gustus, once a reliable boar of a man, became old and fickle. Still tall, still strong, yet unable to work as he did before. Man is not kind to old age.

So the only one left was Lexa. Lexa who is not pretty or smart, who smiles too much and lives too little. Lexa, who always lets Clarke take her hand and guide her to see the world — the very world that Clarke can't see for herself. "Oh, I see it," the girl once told her, beautiful eyes and a beautiful smile set on Lexa. "Your words paint pictures." That was the day that Lexa decided to develop a system, so Clarke could read the pictures she dreamed into stories. That was also the day that she decided to talk to the director of the local freak circus and show her smile. He hired her immediately.

It had been barely a year after Gustus took them in when Lexa had been beaten to a pulp by kids who had found her permanent grin repulsive. She learned how to fight back. She also learned to despise her disfigurement. From that day on, she started hiding it behind a scarf.

 

* * *

 

"What are you thinking so hard about?"

She was startled from her thoughts, one day, by Clarke's raspy voice. From where she was reading at her desk, Lexa leant back and rested her book on the ragged wooden top. "How do you know that I am thinking hard?"

"I can hear you."

Clarke is not a gentle angel or a delicate princess. Lexa admires her because she's anything but. Clarke is strong, impetuous, stubborn like a raging fire; tender, quiet, and warm like a midnight flame. She lets nothing and no one stop her from doing whatever she wants to do whatever she wants to say. Lexa loves her for it.

"I was thinking about my first day at the circus," Lexa said finally.

"The day you came home trying your hardest not to cry?" Lexa couldn't see it, but she knew there was a smirk in Clarke's voice.

"I most certainly did not," Lexa replied indignantly.

"I could hear you sniffling that night." A hand came to lie on her shoulder, in a silent gesture of support and concern. She covered it with her own. "What do they have you doing?"

Lexa shook her head, telling herself that no pain would stop her from caring for her family. She wished she couldn't feel her cheeks smile without her say so. "Nothing I cannot handle."

"I won't you let me attend?"

She turned around, facing Clarke, and heaved a sigh. "Can we talk about something else?"

 

* * *

 

Lexa and Gustus never asked her to do it. In fact, they begged her not to, but Clarke was adamant. Lexa loves her for her stubbornness, but that day, she also wanted to strangle her a little bit.

Clarke joined Lexa's show, under the pretence that only someone who knew her well could take the best performance out of her.

Soon they were scouted by bigger fish and Lexa, with Clarke at her side, became the freak show star of a travelling carnival. Gustus and Belomi, his loyal wolf, following them everywhere.

 

* * *

 

There is a reason why Lexa keeps her permanent grin concealed whenever she's not inside Gustus's green carriage. Every time she uncovers it on show, she can see the emotions play out on people's faces: horror and disgust, followed by mocking laughter. Each time she uncovers her disfigurement, she hates it just a bit more.

"I love it," Clarke says once, her voice low and tender, palms touching her face and fingers lingering on tore open lips. "You are perpetually happy."

Lexa falls just a bit more in love with Clarke. She knows how Clarke feels, knows Clarke loves her too. In the sightless eyes of Clarke, the image of Lexa stands always in a shaft of light. Yet every time she looks at Clarke, she can't help but be reminded of how grotesque her face is and feel unworthy of the blonde's affection.

So she remains distant — as distant as she can, considering that Clarke is a stubborn turmoil, endlessly unwilling to give up on those she loves most.

"Surely you would not say that if—"

"If I could actually see it?" Clarke completes for her, voice heavy with disapproval. Lexa hangs her head in shame and hates that she's grinning and cannot stop it. "I know your face like the back of my hand, Lexa. I don't need my sight to know that you are beautiful."

 

* * *

 

They have just settled at Southwark Fair, where the best circus shows in the country gather to entertain the people of London. The odd nobleman shows up, eager for diversion and a laugh. It is the single most important event in all of England for those of Lexa's occupation.

Lexa is getting ready. She powders her face white and paints her lips red, deepening the dark lines around her eyes. Clarke cards fingers through her hair in a ritual they both know so well. Her hair gets braided as her ailings are eased. For all that she cannot see, Clarke's braids are the best Lexa has ever worn.

A knock sounds from the round window into the room and Lexa turns to see a group of men laughing freely, fingers pointed at her smile, among them a man with a sombre moustache. He turns away and the others keep laughing at her.

Clarke must realise what is going on, for a second later, her lips are on Lexa's temple.

"How they laugh at me," Lexa growls, clenching her eyes shut, hand flying to hide her grin. "I am nothing but a clown!"

Clarke, who knows her way around the carriage better than Gustus himself, stalks to the window and draws the curtain, effectively ending Lexa's torture. She then goes back to Lexa and hugs her from behind.

"I wish I could save you from this life."

Lexa turns to Clarke, eyes wide with reverence. She leans her temple on the blonde's. "You already do."

Gustus chooses that moment to enter the room and a smirk grows on his lips when he sees the scene. Lexa jumps away from Clarke right away, feeling ashamed for once again letting herself be tempted by what she does not deserve.

"I'll cure you of this love sickness," his voice rumbles with delight. "You shall be married before we leave Southwark Fair."

Lexa stands up and steps away from her previous seat and Clarke, an awkward, out of place feeling taking over her.

"Meet me backstage when you are ready," Gustus tells them as he files out, leaving them behind in a dome of tense silence.

Clarke tightens the grip on the back of Lexa's chair.

"Why do you always draw away from me when Gustus speaks of marriage?"

Lexa swallows and once again wills her smile to go away, even if it's a vain thought. "Clarke, I– I haven't the right even to love you."

Clarke turns to the general area where Lexa is, brow furrowed in a way that tells Lexa that the blonde is angry because she just said something foolish. "Lexa, my heart belongs to you." She says it like it is obvious, definite. True.

"You would marry me then, Clarke? Without seeing me?"

Clarke walks up to her, needing only a gentle touch to guide her into Lexa's arms. "I would marry you right this moment if I could."

Minutes later, the whole troupe is backstage, waiting for one of the clowns' numbers to end. Gustus approaches her with his hands clasped together in front of his chest, the image of satisfaction. "We have a great lady with us tonight. Nothing less, I'm sure."

Lexa resists the urge to look, preferring to save the stirring sight for the moment she will climb onstage.

She begins her pre-show ritual: steeling herself against the humiliating minutes to come; learning to close her eyes and ears even as they remain open. She feels a large hand on her shoulder and looks up to find Gustus's kind eyes.

"You do not have to do this, little one," he rumbles softly.

She straightens up, stands taller, locks her jaw. "But I do."

He sighs and nods, aware that he cannot change her mind. "Then it is time."

Minutes later, Lexa hears her name being called on stage and climbs up the small flight of stairs that leads to the dais.

The performance is simple, a mere preface to the real spectacle. She creeps towards the centre of the stage, long legs taking slow, mantis-like steps, the side of the black cape billowing behind her pulled up to cover her mouth.

She holds the public's expectant gaze for a few more seconds, before dramatically pulling her cape down and releasing it, exposing her vile grin.

The crowd gasps, horrified by such hideousness. They wince, disgusted with her disfigurement. Then the first laugh reverberates around he room and soon everyone is cackling; loud, sharp guffaws piercing through her ears and pulling at the corners of her lips, trying to tug them down, only to fall defeated on her chest, a weight over her heart she cannot thwart try as she may.

As the laughter gets louder and louder, her eyes search the room for an anchor. They find it right at the centre of the wall opposite from her.

There is a woman — a beautiful woman, if she might add — looking serious, sombre even, and not a chuckle leaves her sealed lips. She looks almost... Aroused. Their eyes meet and Lexa feels like thanking the woman for not laughing, for providing her with much needed reprieve.

Finally it is time for her to leave the stage and she does so with a tumble, as though she just finished running a marathon. Her eyes burn with tears she will not shed, back slumped by the weight of mocking laughter.

"What a success!" Gustus roars, engulfing her in a bear hug. "And did you see that beautiful lady in the box?"

Lexa chuckles, feeling lighter after stepping out of that wretched stage. Clarke chooses that moment to approach her, hand out feeling for hers, and everything else fades away. Lexa extends her hand to pull Clarke to her and envelop her in a hug.

Clarke nuzzles her jaw.

"Was she really so beautiful, Lexa."

"I don't know," Lexa replies sincerely in the girl's ear. "My strongest memories fail me when you hold me like this."

Later that night, Lexa is watching Southwark Fair go to sleep when a page approaches her and gives her a slip of paper. He walks away without waiting for her to read it, so she sits down on the steps of Gustus's carriage, Belomi at her feet, and unfolds the small sheet of paper, reading the elegant words in elegant cursive:

 

_I am she who did not laugh. Was it pity or was it love? My page will meet you at midnight._

Lexa must spend an eternity reading the message as her fingers pet Belomi's wiry fur. Eventually, Gustus comes out of the carriage and sits down next to her.

"Something worries you, little one?" he asks softly.

Lexa shakes her head still in disbelief and holds the paper out for her adoptive father to read. "A woman has seen my face and yet may love me."

He reads it carefully, expression heavy. "What does she want from you?"

"Just a meeting," Lexa says simply. "Gustus, I just want to see if she can love me even having seen how I look. If such a thing is possible, then I have the right to marry Clarke."

"You already do."

"Clarke has never seen my face, Gustus. What if- what if she could see? Would she love me still?" she asks with a sliver of desperation in her voice. "This will help me know. Only then will I know that I am not taking advantage of the fact that she cannot see."

Gustus stands up with a frown on his lips. "Forget such nonsense. Clarke loves you — and she'll never see your face. You need to accept both truths and stop questioning one because of the other."

She tries to believe that. She does. She tries so hard, yet at midnight, when the page shows up again, she follows his lead.

His steps lead them to an estate in the outskirts of town, where she knows an important noble to live. She starts jittering by the time they have left at least a dozen flights of stairs behind and starts clenching and unclenching her hand into fists when she sees herself in front of what can only be the door to the master chamber. Still, she stands tall and stoic.

The door opens and out comes the same man that was watching her and Clarke from the window. He nods at her, as though he's just paid some debt. Lexa shakes the thought away and goes in.

She marvels at the wonders that litter the room, from expensive jars to golden candelabras, from beautiful paintings to marble statues. It is messy and luxurious and over the top and everything Lexa is not.

She sees the duchess lying on a chaise lounge, with a long see-through white dress barely covering her legs. Her expression is the same as at the show and the only thing that betrays her interest in Lexa are the flames burning through deep, brown eyes.

"The laughing woman. You can take off the scarf. You are fascinating just as you are," the duchess drawls, sounding almost bored. "You looked taller on stage."

Lexa bows respectfully and takes off her scarf. "The stage does wonders for one's stature."

The duchess hums, amused. "Do you know my name?" Before Lexa can respond, the noblewoman continues: "I am Josiana, duchess of Southwark. I oversee the land your little show is currently occupying. Do you know your name, Lexa Gwynplaine?"

"You said it just now."

"Lexa is the name that the Comprachicos gave you, Gwynplaine is the surname that means you are Gustus's adoptive daughter. What I am asking you about is your real name. The one given to you by your birth parents."

Lexa hesitates, then sighs in defeat. "I don't remember being called by any name other than Lexa Gwynplaine."

"Then you do not know of your origins," Josiana concludes.

"I barely remember being taken from my father. His face is but a blur."

Josiana nods and stands from her perch, walking towards Lexa. The duchess stops mere inches away from her. "A letter arrived two days ago, telling the tale of a child lost to the Comprachicos. The daughter of a lord who was cruelly murdered by the late king. Therefore, rightful heir to the lord's seat on the House of Lords. That child's name was Claire Charlie. Nowadays, she goes by Lexa Gwynplaine." The duchess rests the tip of her index finger on Lexa's shoulder and starts walking around her, finger dragging over her back with every step the noblewoman takes. "Be my lover, Lexa. Embrace your roots. Be mine until I tire of you, and you will have what is rightfully yours."

It repulses Lexa that she considers the offer. Spoils to share with Clarke and Gustus. She could be Josiana's temporary lover and marry Clarke once the time was up. Make Clarke her lady. Make Clarke hers.

The moment Josiana's finger reaches the other shoulder, there is a knock on the bedroom door and the duchess stalks up to it. She opens it just enough and retrieves a letter stamped with the royal seal.

Josiana returns to her chaise lounge and reads the missive, stopping every now and then to make a comment on it.

"It appears that the good doctor went to the Queen as well as me... Your heritage is now common knowledge in the House of Lords. And she wants me to—"

The letter drops from Josiana's hands and she pales. Lexa takes a step towards her, then another, until she hears it.

A laugh. Then another. And another. Suddenly Josiana is laughing out loud, deliriously cackling at whatever she just read.

Lexa feels her stomach fall. She knows somehow that Josiana is laughing at her, even if she has no idea of what is written in the letter. 

"She wants me to marry you!" the duchess guffaws, unable to control her shaking body. "She wants me to marry a clown!"

Lexa feels every word pierce her heart like a dagger and it is all she can do not to flinch. "I am no clown," she mutters, more for herself than for her companion.

Josiana stops laughing and levels her with an intense stare. "You are both right and wrong. You are a clown still, but will no longer be when the Queen makes you lord again." Her words are now menacing, a long way from the seductive tone she employed when before receiving the letter. "If marrying a clown is what I must do to keep my fortune, then that is what I will do. I shall cure you of all this nonsense about bear men and wolf dogs and blind peasant girls. You will become a lord."

Lexa feels her insides boil. Her hands clench into fists, her jaw locks, and her whole body shakes with fury. "No."

The duchess looks at her as if she has suddenly sprouted to heads, then lets out an amused laugh. "No? The Queen's word is law. Failure to comply will lead to your execution and your friends' banishment."

"So be it," Lexa responds coldly. "We can spend our whole lives on the run if that is what it takes to escape someone who wanted me only for a toy and laughed like all the others the moment that the spell broke. I shall not be forced into a hateful marriage. Not even on the Queen's command."

Josiana's expression, as she jumps off the chaise, is pure disdain. "You have the right to marry a Duchess and you refuse it to be with— with a _blind girl_?"

"That is exactly what I am doing."

Now it is Josiana who shakes with rage. "How dare you refuse the hand of a Duchess— _you clown_!"

"A King made me a clown!" Lexa growls.

"A gracious Queen is willing to make you a Lord. You will honour her Majesty's command!"

Lexa holds her gaze, before turning and walking for the door. She rests her hand on the knob and turns back to Josiana one last time.

"A Queen made me a Lord," she concedes quietly, coldly. "But first, God made me a woman."

With that, she opens the door and leaves, slamming it behind herself.

Behind her, she hears the door open and Josiana's chilling screech:

"Seize this laughing clown, who dares insult the Queen of England!"

Her first thought is Clarke. She runs out of the palace, evading all attacks and attempts at her capture. Once in the open, she pulls a servant from the saddle of a horse and climbs on it, losing no time as she kicks the beat's side and urges it to gallop.

The ride is a blur, tinged with desperation to get to Clarke and Gustus and Belomi. She bolts through the entrance to the city and past houses and streets, until she finally nears the fair. She jumps off the horse and runs in search Gustus's green carriage.

It is not there. Desperate, she runs to the carriage that was next to her father's and spots the owner. She clutches the lapels of his coat and asks him where her family has gone.

He tells her they were told to leave England before the sunset and she lets go of him to set off towards the port.

At last the reaches the docks and the ship her family has boarded. Clarke stands by the edge, likely waiting for Lexa to come back.

"Clarke!" she calls out, and the blonde follows the source of the sound to glare in her general direction.

"You came."

"How could I not?"

"I thought you would be off marrying a duchess and becoming a lord," Clarke bites.

"Word travels fast. Yet you were waiting for me, Clarke. You knew I would come."

"I did, because I know you. And that is why I will not let you board until you tell me the first thing you will do when we set foot in French land."

Lexa sighs, frustrated. "We are wasting precious time, Clarke," she chides. "Every moment we spend here talking — or yelling, considering the circumstances — is a moment that the Queen's guard inches closer in their mission to capture me, all because I rejected a Duchess's hand so I could be with you."

She swears she can see Clarke smirking. "Then you should hurry. You know what you have to say."

Lexa presses her lips in a thin line. "I am not worthy, Clarke."

"You are worthy if I say you are. I see you as you are, Lexa. Your smile is like my sightlessness. They do not define us."

Lexa decides to forgo all pleasantries and takes a few steps back, before starting a run towards the edge of the dock. At the last moment, she jumps and grabs onto the edge of the ship. She comes face to face with Clarke, even though the girl cannot see her. She touches Clarke's hand, letting the blonde become aware of her presence, and guides it to her face — her smile.

"I laugh even when I am sad," she laments.

"I love you even when you leave me."

The words open her eyes at last and she places a kiss — or what qualifies as one considering her tore open lips — on Clarke's cheek. "The first thing I will do when we set foot in French land is marry you."

Clarke smiles brilliantly and brushes a thumb her lower lip. "Welcome aboard, Lexa Gwynplaine."

Lexa chances a last look at the docks and sees the small figures of soldiers approaching. Nothing to worry about, however, as the crew keeps running around them and the ships starts its journey, leaving England behind.


End file.
